Aidan
Aidan peered through the grimy little window of his rundown house, the one he shared with two flatmates who came and went like ghosts. Outside, under the dim glow of the moonlight, something was tied to a tree in his neighbor's backyard.
At first, he thought it was a person. But that didn't make sense—no one would tie a person to a tree. Right?
He leaned closer, squinting against the darkness. The shape was all wrong. Too thin, too angular. It's limbs were long, torso bony. It was too big to be a dog, too unnatural to be human. A shiver crawled up his spine.
Maybe it was a trick of the shadows. Or maybe he was just tired from stressing about his papers.
Aidan swallowed, his fingers tightening around the windowsill. He should look away, go back to bed, pretend he hadn't seen anything. That was the smart thing to do. But his gaze remained fixed on the thing, his breath shallow as his mind fought between logic and something deeper—something primal.
Maybe he should buy binoculars. A ridiculous thought, but it lingered. He could get a better look, confirm that it was nothing, ease his racing mind. And yet... what if it wasn't nothing? What if he saw something he wasn't supposed to see? He had no interest in becoming part of a murder case—or worse, a missing person's case.
His neighbor, Mr. Albu, wasn't exactly a friendly old man. Aidan had only seen him once or twice since moving in six months ago, and the neighborhood didn't seem to like him much. People whispered that he was some kind of occultist, a devil-worshipper dabbling in things better left alone. The ten-foot-high walls around his property certainly didn't help his reputation.
Aidan wasn't sure whether he should be scared or thrilled that his bedroom window had the perfect view of whatever was happening in that backyard.
Aidan hesitated, his fingers tightening around the windowsill. What if it really was a person? Someone who needed help?
He took another look, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. The more he stared, the more his brain refused to dismiss the thought. The figure tied to the Cottonwood tree was too still, too eerily shaped. Shadows played tricks on his eyes, but deep down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that someone was out there, bound and helpless.
A tight knot formed in his stomach. Should he call the police?
The last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself by dialing 911 over a stray dog, an old horse, or—worse—nothing at all. Maybe it was just the twisting shadows of the whispering Cottonwood leaves, making him see things that weren't there. But what if it wasn't?
He considered waking his flatmates, but he already knew how that would go. They would panic, tell him he was overthinking it, and probably talk him out of reporting anything. They might even push him to move out, and Aidan simply didn't have the money for that.
His parents weren't rich enough to support his college expenses, let alone his rent. He had scraped by for six months in Eugene, Oregon, working part-time as an online tutor while juggling his psychology coursework at the University of Oregon. By the time he had moved in, the dorms were already full, leaving him with no choice but to share this run-down student apartment with two seniors he barely knew.
None of that mattered now. Because while he was supposed to be cramming for his upcoming exam, he was instead staring into his neighbor's backyard, wondering if he was about to get involved in something far worse than failing a test.
The sky outside was dark but softening, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. Aidan's heart pounded. He wanted to go outside and check—but the thought of stepping into that yard at this hour terrified him.
Sleep. He would go to the police in the morning, report what he saw, and let them decide if it was worth investigating. It was better to be cautious than reckless.
Shutting the window, he tried to ignore the anxiety clawing at his chest and forced himself to sleep.
He woke up gasping.
Aidan's entire body was paralyzed, a crushing weight pressing down on his chest. A wrinkled, skeletal man with hollow eyes sat on top of him, bony hands wrapped around his throat. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The old man's lips twisted into a grotesque smile as his fingers tightened—
Aidan jolted awake, heart hammering against his ribs. He sat up, gasping for air, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. His hands flew to his throat, but there was nothing there. Just a dream. A nightmare.
Shaking, he stumbled toward the window and yanked it open.
The backyard was empty.
The Cottonwood tree stood silent, its orchid vines swaying gently, their tendrils hanging down like a witch's tangled hair. There was no sign of the figure, no rope, nothing to suggest that anything had ever been tied there.
Had he imagined it?
His stomach twisted.
The house behind the tree loomed, its windows dark and unreadable. The place was too big for one person, too quiet for comfort. If Mr. Albu wanted, he could easily hide someone inside. Hell, he could hide multiple people and no one would ever know.
Aidan had only ever seen him doing normal things—sipping tea on his porch, trimming his lawn on the weekends. But normal didn't mean innocent. Not when half the neighborhood whispered about the man practicing occult rituals behind his ten-foot walls.
Aidan shouldn't be surprised.
Aidan hastily pulled a wrinkled cotton t-shirt over his pajama bottoms, his mind racing.
"Where are you going so early?" Lucas's voice rang out from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of a spoon against a ceramic bowl.
"I have something to do," Aidan replied, his words rushed as he shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers. Before Lucas could question him further, he was already halfway out the door.
The morning air was crisp, the sun barely rising over the quiet neighborhood. Aidan walked briskly toward Mr. Albu's property, his heart hammering. He knew this was reckless—possibly even stupid—but the image the thing in the shadows wouldn't leave his mind. He had to know.
He stopped behind the old man's house, where the overgrown bushes shielded the view from the street. The towering brick wall loomed in front of him, its rough surface weathered with age. He knew this spot—hidden from Mr. Albu's porch. If he wanted a better look, this was his only chance.
Aidan took a steadying breath, then ran his fingers along the uneven bricks. He used to climb palm trees as a kid back in his hometown, but scaling a vertical brick wall was an entirely different challenge. His first attempt was clumsy, his foot slipping against the surface, but he gritted his teeth and tried again.
On the third try, his fingers found enough grip to hoist himself up, his arms trembling as he pulled himself high enough to peek over the edge. His breath hitched.
A figure sat inside the thick branches of the cottonwood tree.
Not an animal. Not some trick of the moonlight.
A person.
Aidan gasped, losing his grip. His body lurched downward, scraping his hands against the rough brick as he tumbled back onto the ground. Pain shot up his elbow where it hit the dirt, but he barely noticed. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
He had seen it. Not just the outline, not just the suggestion of a shape. A real person.
And those eyes. Those impossibly grey eyes had locked onto him just before he fell.
Aidan pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes with shaking hands. His mind swirled with thoughts too fast to process.
There was no time to hesitate.
Without another thought, he turned on his heel and sprinted toward the nearest police station.
Aidan burst into the station, panting from the run. He must have looked like a mess—his oversized cotton t-shirt clinging to his sweat-dampened skin, his pajama bottoms wrinkled and frayed at the hem—but he didn't care.
The officer at the front desk lifted an eyebrow at his disheveled state. "Can I help you?"
Aidan braced his hands against the counter, still catching his breath. "You need to send someone to my neighbor's house. Mr. Albu. I saw something—I saw someone. It were tied to a tree in his backyard."
The officer's gaze flickered with skepticism. "Mr. Albu? The old man?"
"Yes! He's keeping someone there—I saw it last night, and I saw it again just now."
The officer exhaled, giving him a once-over. "Sir, Mr. Albu is a seventy-year-old man. Are you sure about what you saw? He can barely walk, let alone tie someone to a tree."
Aidan clenched his fists. "I know what I saw. That person was there. And it looked right at me." His voice was firm now, unwavering. "It had grey eyes. The most striking, unique grey eyes I've ever seen."
The officer sighed as if humoring a child with an overactive imagination. "Alright," he said, pushing himself up from his seat. "Let's go check it out."